


A Paragraph and a Half

by avislightwing



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Kid Fic, M/M, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Pining, Prompt Fill, Shorts, Sickfic, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2018-11-02 15:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 9,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10947129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avislightwing/pseuds/avislightwing
Summary: Collection of all my ACOTAR drabbles/short prompt fills!Chapter 1:   Rhys + daughter "lets go get your revenge on the boy"Chapter 2:   Tarquin/Lucien brotp “You’re so clingy, I love it.”Chapter 3:   Nessian “That wasn’t very subtle.”Chapter 4:   Nessian “We’re not playing strip poker. I don’t care what I said when I was drunk.”Chapter 5:   Feysand “D..did you just make that noise?”Chapter 6:   Feyre/Lucien brotp “You’re going out dressed like that?”Chapter 7:   Feyre + Nesta "Mind if I join you?"Chapter 8:   Tarquin/Rhysand brotp “And when did you plan on telling me about this?”Chapter 9:   ElucienI purposely get your coffee order wrong just so you’ll talk to me again auChapter 10: Feysand "You had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it."Chapter 11: Elriel “Why did we have to have kids?”Chapter 12: Elucienstudy session auChapter 13: Lussian "I won't let you get hurt."Chapter 14: Rhysand + ElainChapter 15: Azriel + KalliasChapter 16: Lucien/Cassian,It’s Nothing - (character) insists they’re fine, right up until they collapseChapter 17: Dark!Elucien[cont.]





	1. Bats Aren't Bugs

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 18: Nessian "It's okay to cry..."  
> Chapter 19: Elucien “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhys + daughter "lets go get your revenge on the boy"

“Daddy!” The last syllable is drawn out into a wail of, if Rhys took his daughter at her word, complete and utter anguish.

Rhys catches Kenna up in his arms, careful to avoid her tiny, frantically flapping wings. “What is it, dearest?” he says as she continues to wail.

“Andras is being mean again!” she cries into his shoulder. “He says the Spring Court is more prettier than the Night Court and they has more flowers!”

“Well, they _do_ have more flowers,” Rhys says thoughtfully.

“Daddy!” Kenna draws back, looking into her father’s face in complete and utter betrayal.

Rhys laughs. “What did Aunt Elain and Uncle Lucien say?”

“They was someplace else,” she grouses. “And _then_ Andras pulled my _hair_ and said my wings was _funny_ ‘cause I looked like a _bat_.” Her blue eyes fill with tears again. “Bats eat bugs, Daddy! I don’t wanna eat bugs!”

Rhys summons his wings. “I have wings too, don’t I, dearest? And so does Mommy. Do we eat bugs?”

Kenna’s eyes fill with sudden suspicion. “Maybe.”

Rhys has to try very, very hard not to laugh. “Well, we don’t. I should have a talk with your Uncle Lucien. It appears his son has taken on some of his bad habits.”

“But it was Andras who’s being mean,” Kenna protests. “Not Uncle Lucien.”

“Good point,” Rhys agrees, thinking. “He pulled your hair, did he?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hmm. Well, we can’t just let him get away with that, can we? Do you know if feathers still make him sneeze?”

Kenna lights up. “Yes!”

“Then let’s go get your pillow,” Rhys says with a grin, “and then let’s go get your revenge on the boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	2. Salt and Steam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarquin/Lucien brotp “You’re so clingy, I love it.”

“You’re so clingy,” Tarquin said as Lucien walked into the room for the fifth time that hour. “I love it.”

“There’s nothing else to do here,” Lucien griped.

“It’s not my fault Feyre and Rhysand dumped you here while they swanned off to who knows where,” Tarquin said, turning in his chair and rolling his eyes.

Tarquin had already discovered, much to his chagrin, that Lucien couldn’t stand being alone. He’d tried – Cauldron, he’d tried. He’d shut Lucien in a very nice bedroom, one with a view of the ocean. He’d provided him with plenty of books. He’d even placed a tank of minnows strategically next to the door so Lucien would get distracted and _not walk out of it_. None of it had worked.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Lucien. In fact, he thought the Autumn Fae to be clever and funny. Interesting, even.

But he was also whiny, and clingy, and Tarquin had things to do.

“There aren’t even any servants here,” Lucien said, opening a window to let in an ocean breeze that sent Tarquin’s papers scattering around the room.

“They’re invisible,” Tarquin informed him, standing up and looking dismally at the two hundred and seventeen pages of the trade agreement with the border cities in the Day Court, which were now in (more or less) two hundred and seventeen different places.

“That’s odd.” Lucien leaned out the window. “I can’t believe you’re shut up in this place when the beach is right there,” he added.

“You like the beach?” Tarquin asked, bending down to pick up his papers.

“I’ve never been,” Lucien admitted.

Tarquin looked from the long, nearly unintelligible papers in his hands to the man leaning out the window who was clingy, and whiny – and had never walked barefoot in soft white sand, never leapt back from the crashing waves… For that matter, Tarquin couldn’t remember when he himself had done those things.

“I give up,” Tarquin said, tossing his papers into the air and letting them fall where they would. “Seeing as I won’t be getting rid of you anytime soon, I suppose I might as well show you the wonders of the Summer Court.”

Lucien turned around with a grin. “I knew you would fold eventually.”

Tarquin smiled as well, in spite of himself, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Maybe I could do with a break, anyways.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	3. As a Flying Brick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nessian “That wasn’t very subtle.”

“That wasn’t very subtle.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cassian said, the epitome of innocence.

Nesta raised an eyebrow, then went back to shelving books. “You ask what my favorite book is, then immediately go over and flip through it? It’s obvious you’re trying to get my attention, and it’s not attractive.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Sorry. You’re right. Well, have a good day,” he said brightly, walking out the door.

Nesta stared after him for a moment. She would never dare flirt with a customer, especially since so many thought that meant she was open to a free-for-all flirt-fest, but she had to admit that she enjoyed watching Cassian walk out of the store every day. Despite his arrogance and ability to turn virtually everything into an innuendo, she’d found herself looking forward to their brief interactions.

She almost regretted calling him out like that.

 

“Happy birthday, Nesta!” Nesta responded with only a cursory grunt, partly because she was lifting a heavy box of thrillers, and partly because the only one allowed to wish her a happy birthday – or talk to her at all – in that cheery of a tone was Elain. And Cassian was certainly not Elain.

“How did you even know if was my birthday?” Nesta grumbled after she’d set the box down.

“I asked your sister,” Cassian informed her. “Surprisingly easy.”

“You know Elain?” Nesta asked, scowling.

“Nah, Feyre. Well. I know Rhys, and Rhys knows Feyre.” Cassian beamed. “Anyways. Happy birthday. Got you a gift. See you!”

Nesta sighed, turning to tell him she really shouldn’t accept anything from customers, but he was already walking out of the door, whistling the birthday song in an (endearingly) off-key tone. On the stool next to her was a rectangular package covered in wrapping paper of a bright shade of red.

She sighed again, more deeply and melodramatically, grabbing the package and sitting down on the stool. She might as well open it. It might be the only present she’d get today, as Cassian _clearly_ had not gotten the memo she hated birthdays, presents, and everything associated. Besides, he hadn’t asked her out, and hadn’t made any innuendos that weren’t obviously self-deprecating. He wasn’t one of the creepers. He was just a nice guy who –

She stared at what lay under the tacky wrapping paper.

Who’d just given her the special-edition gold-lettered copy of her favorite book she’d been eyeing for ages and hadn’t had the cash to buy for herself.

Nesta had been wrong the other day, when she’d said that way of getting her attention wasn’t attractive – and when she’d said it wasn’t subtle.

It was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	4. Layers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nessian “We’re not playing strip poker. I don’t care what I said when I was drunk.”

“We’re not playing strip poker. I don’t care what I said when I was drunk.”

“But _Nesta_ ,” Cassian wheedled. “You weren’t _that_ drunk.”

She shot him her best evil eye – the one Illyrians whispered could kill a man at ten paces. Unfortunately, however, Cassian stayed very much alive. “I don’t care how drunk I was, it’s not happening,” she asserted.

“What if we up the ante?” he proposed.

“How so?” she said suspiciously.

“If you win enough that I’m stripped down to my underwear, I’ll buy you dinner.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at him. “And if it goes the other way? If you win?”

He gave her his best shit-eating grin. The one that made her want to see how far he would fall off a cliff before catching himself on those absurd wings of his. “Then I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Somehow this sounds like a win-win situation for you,” Nesta said.

Cassian shrugged innocently. “Well? Do we have a deal?”

Nesta studied him. She considered her options. And then she nodded.

 

In the end, it worked out. Nesta got a (very fancy) free meal, she got to see Cassian in his underwear, and he never learned that she was, and had always been, an unabashed cheater at card games. Especially at strip poker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	5. The Cat's Meow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feysand “D..did you just make that noise?”

“D… did you just make that noise?”

Rhys turned to Feyre, spatula in hand, apron tied around his waist, and injured expression on his face. “That noise, Feyre darling, is called _singing_.”

“Singing?” Feyre hopped up onto the barstool at the counter. “Funny, I thought it was the cat yowling.”

Rhys sniffed huffily. “I’ll have you know that I was in a barbershop quartet in college,” he informed his wife. “We were quite well-known around campus.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a jug band?” Feyre asked him. “And you just _thought_ it was a barbershop quartet? You can be pretty oblivious, after all.”

“I am _not_ oblivious,” Rhys started hotly. “I’m just –”

“Letting my omelet burn?” Feyre suggested with a grin.

Rhys turned on his heel, swearing profusely and flipping the smoking eggs. He studied what was meant to be his wife’s breakfast with a sigh. “I’ll never get the hang of this.”

“You were doing fine until I distracted you with insults,” Feyre consoled him. “And you made an entire piece of toast the other day.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t be equally marvelous at everything, can I?” Rhys said with a desolate sigh. “I’m a terrible chef.”

“And a terrible singer,” Feyre said, leaning over the counter to kiss him on the cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	6. Only So An Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre/Lucien brotp “You’re going out dressed like that?”

“You’re going out dressed like that?”

Lucien froze, halfway out the door. “No.”

“Yes, you are.” Feyre crossed her arms, taking in the bedsheet draped over her friend. “What _is_ that?”

Lucien’s shoulders drooped, and he turned around. “It’s a toga,” he said tonelessly, plucking at the linen. “It’s what they wear in the Day Court.”

“But we’re not in the Day Court.” Feyre looked at him sharply. “Wait. You’re going to the Day Court? To Helion? Since when?”

“Since he asked me to,” Lucien said resignedly. “I got the letter a week ago. Claims he’s ‘getting on in years’ and wants to introduce me as his heir to his entire court.”

“And you agreed to that?” Feyre said, incredulous.

Lucien struggled for a moment, searching for something to say, then shrugged and said, “Yes.”

Feyre sat down on the arm of a nearby chair, looking rather stunned. “But… why?”

Lucien sighed. “Feyre… you know I don’t fit in here.”

“That’s not true,” she contested. “It’s just that –”

“It’s just that no one trusts me,” he filled in. “And no one really likes me. Except you, maybe. But Rhysand patently hates me, Cassian, Azriel, and Mor barely tolerate me, Amren seems to ignore me, and Nesta seems about a minute away from ripping my throat out on a daily basis.”

“And Elain?” Feyre said hesitantly.

A bleak expression crossed Lucien’s face. “She needs – space,” he said. “Or time. One. Both. I don’t know. She doesn’t want me around. I can’t… say I blame her.”

“So you’re going to run off?” Feyre’s tone was accusatory.

Lucien’s mouth tightened. “I’m going somewhere someone wants me,” he spat. Then, more softly, “I’m going somewhere – where maybe I can be useful. Mother above, Feyre, can you blame me? My entire quest during the war was useless. And so was I. I’m not part of the Night Court, not really.”

“I know. It’s just…” Feyre swallowed. “It’s so far away.”

“I’ll visit sometime, if you want,” Lucien said, eyes avoiding hers. “But maybe not for a while. I don’t want… to be too close to her.”

Feyre knew he meant Elain. “Maybe I’ll come visit you, then. Make up some diplomatic reason. I don’t think Helion would mind.”

“I’d like that.” Lucien fiddled with the drape of fabric over his shoulder.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know. A while. Helion’s invitation was indefinite. There’s lots of libraries there; that’s where I’m planning to spend most of my time.”

“Alone?”

Lucien didn’t respond immediately. He seemed to be exceedingly interested in a mark on the floor – he kept tracing it with one bare toe. “I suppose,” he said at length. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll make lots of friends at the Day Court. Maybe I’ll have more luck there than I’ve had with my previous three.”

Feyre didn’t know what to say. Slowly, she got up, went over to Lucien, and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened before hugging her back.

“Stay safe,” she told him softly. “And remember that I am your friend. Truly.”

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	7. Drowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre + Nesta "Mind if I join you?"
> 
> Warning: abuse discussion

“Mind if I join you?”

Feyre paused with her paintbrush halfway to the canvas. “I thought you were training with Amren.”

Nesta stood beside her, posture unnaturally straight as always. “Yes. Well. I was. She had to go… do something.”

“Pull up a chair and grab a canvas,” Feyre offered, reloading her brush with a swirled mixture of white and grey.

She didn’t look at her sister, but she heard the scraping sound as Nesta dragged a stool across the floor, the clatter and soft swearing as she knocked over a cup of brushes, the rustling as Nesta set tubes of paint down between them. It was only when she’d finished fixing the canvas in place that Feyre glanced over. “What spurred this?”

“You started teaching me,” Nesta said a bit stiffly. “When you stayed with us before… everything happened.”

Before she’d gone back to save Tamlin. Before she’d been imprisoned by Amarantha for months. Before she’d become Fae. “Oh. Right.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Feyre saw Nesta splash a streak of orange across the canvas rather haphazardly. “I have nothing better to do, and I saw you, so…”

Feyre nodded.

Neither of them said another word for almost an hour. Until both canvases were nearly coated in paint. They had both, Feyre noticed, opted for abstracts. Hers was all harsh lines and colors – blues and whites and greys. And Nesta’s was… She didn’t know quite what it was. Swirls and splatters. No color profile. Just… chaos.

Nesta’s brush paused on a vicious downstroke. “Feyre?” she said, teeth gritted.

Feyre tilted her head, waiting for her sister to go on.

“I never… said I was sorry.”

“What?” Feyre turned, startled, to see Nesta’s face contorted, eyes nearly closed, hand trembling on the brush.

“I never said I was sorry,” Nesta bit out. “For being a stone-cold bitch and letting my little sister whore herself out to the winter woods. For being more concerned about my pretty hands –” She spread her paint-splattered hand, the one not holding the brush. “– than your well-being. For being so consumed with my hatred for our father that I drove you out. And worse than that – for making you think that you didn’t matter. That I’d _forget_ about you.”

Feyre paused in her own painting, considering the woman beside her. For a moment, she felt anger flare inside her. It was all true, what Nesta said. And yet… Nesta had not been much more than a child either. And then Nesta had gone to the wall to search for her. It wasn’t enough, but…

Feyre sighed, and in that sigh, she felt her anger drain away. “It’s fine, Nesta. We’ve moved on.”

And then she flinched – just a bit – as Nesta stood up, threw her palette across the room, and upended her easel with one violent motion. She could _hear_ Nesta’s breathing – heavy and hoarse, as if she’d been running for miles. “ _No_ ,” Nesta said harshly. “No, Feyre, it’s not fine, dammit, it’s _not_.” Her voice broke suddenly, and her hands clenched, snapping the paintbrush in half. “I hurt you,” she said in a whisper. “On purpose. I systematically _tore you down_ until even that Spring Court bastard seemed warm and welcoming.”

Feyre stared at Nesta. This was… the most emotion she’d ever seen Nesta display. There was an ache growing in her chest, like stitches torn open.

Nesta’s eyes opened, and she looked into Feyre’s. Grey-blue into grey-blue. “You were drowning,” she said, still in a whisper, “and I might as well have been shoving your head under the water.”

Feyre nodded. “Yes,” she said, voice low. “Yes.”

Nesta nodded as well, then did so again. “I hurt you,” she said.

“Yes.”

“For years.”

“Yes.”

“And me going to the border – me keeping that bit of the table with your painting on it – it wasn’t enough.”

“No,” Feyre said. “It wasn’t.”

Nesta waited.

“You hurt me,” Feyre said, and something broke inside her. “I was a child. A child who didn’t even know how to read, a child whose mother had told her to take care of her father, of her older sisters. And Mother help me, you let it happen. You let me go into the woods over and over again – you would’ve let us starve. You were cruel, and heartless, and you let me think I was _nothing_.”

“I let you think you were nothing,” Nesta repeated.

Feyre stood up, and the paintbrush dropped to the floor. “You took, and you took, and you took,” she said, voice rising with each repetition. “You would’ve sucked me dry if you could, because you hated me for doing the right thing when you couldn’t.”

“I tried,” Nesta said.

“You _hurt_ me,” Feyre said, and suddenly she felt small and vulnerable. She was the child whose mother had died and laid a burden much too heavy for one so young on her. Who watched her father being tortured. Whose family nearly let her starve. “You failed me.”

And then, quite suddenly, Nesta’s arms were around her.

“I failed you,” Nesta whispered, and her embrace was fierce. Feyre had never been hugged like this – like a mother, she thought. She’d certainly not gotten it from her own mother, who’d patted her on the head occasionally on the way to a party.

And then Feyre’s arms went around her sister, and she let Nesta hold her as she cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	8. A Friendly Favor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarquin/Rhysand brotp “And when did you plan on telling me about this?”

“And when did you plan on telling me about this?”

“Never, preferably,” Rhys said cheerfully. “Don’t worry. He’s much less destructive than Cassian.”

“You’re making me wish I hadn’t taken those blood rubies back,” Tarquin grumbled, keeping half an eye on Lucien, who was wandering through the tiled foyer. He wished Varian was here, but no, it _just so happened_ that Varian was off in the Illyrian steppes (of all places), training with Cassian and Azriel. They were, as Rhys had predicted, thick as thieves. And Cresseida was at the Day Court, using her formidable diplomacy skills to negotiate a trade agreement with some of the border cities. The hope was that she’d also be able to stop in the Dawn Court on the way back. Helion liked to loan out his books, and in return for their delivery, Cresseida wanted to train with Thesan’s healers for a few weeks. All good plans. Tarquin had approved them without hesitation.

Of course, that had been before he’d learned that Rhys was going to drop Lucien off at his palace for a few weeks while he and Feyre went on “a trip.”

“And I have no choice in this matter?”

“None at all. I promise he won’t be much trouble,” Rhys assured him. “I just thought he could do with some southern weather. Feyre thinks he misses Spring.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to keep him entertained.” Tarquin winced as he caught Lucien out of the corner of his eye picking up and examining a delicate, spun-glass globe. Despite being an emissary, Lucien didn’t seem to have any care whatsoever for things like _diplomacy_ and _not touching the invaluable treasures of the Summer Court_.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll find ways to entertain himself,” Rhys said with a wave of his hand.

“You owe me for this, Rhysand,” Tarquin informed his friend.

“Yes, yes, I’ll owe you a favor,” Rhys agreed, glancing at the water clock in the center of the room. “Well, Feyre’ll be waiting for me, so I’m afraid I have to run. Have fun!” He placed his hands on Tarquin’s shoulders and gave him a kiss on each cheek in the most Rhys-like (and therefore overdramatic) farewell he could possibly manage before spreading those bat-like wings of his and taking off through the large, open doors.

“You owe me!” Tarquin said again to the empty air where Rhys was. He then winced once more at the sound of shattering glass from behind him.

It was going to be a very long few weeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	9. Lucky in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elucien _I purposely get your coffee order wrong just so you’ll talk to me again au ___

Elain frowned at her laptop screen. She’d been working on her botany paper for over an hour now, and that was after she’d gotten up at the crack of dawn to help her boss unload a shipment of new flowerpots. She’d promised herself she would just go to the coffeeshop for the ambiance – she didn’t make nearly enough to buy herself her favorite chamomile latte more than once a week. But she’d just written almost two thousand words on the care and keeping of cold-weather perennials, and she deserved a reward.

Plus, Barista Pretty Boy was working the register again.

It was her sister Feyre who’d coined the name. All Elain had done was mentioned she’d seen a lot of this one particular employee, and that he had long red hair he always kept tied up, and she enjoyed watching him make cappuccinos because he had to roll up his sleeves. She’d insisted to Feyre – quite a number of times, actually – that she hadn’t even _talked_ to him, didn’t even know his _name_. It didn’t help.

And besides, he was pretty. Very.

She locked her computer screen, rearranged her skirt, and headed to the counter, telling herself sternly that she was just getting herself a drink because it had been a long morning and she deserved it. Not because she wanted to see the barista up close again. And yet there she was. And there he was, hair and russet eye and nice arms and all.

Elain cleared her throat. “One chamomile cambric tea, please,” she said, quite professionally she thought. She congratulated herself on said professionalism as she handed her card over. She shouldn’t have, because his fingers accidentally brushed hers, and she jumped as if she’d received an electric shock.

“Do you want your receipt?” he prompted.

Elain flushed, realizing she’d been staring at his hands for _entirely_ too long, nodded, and took her card and the slip of paper back, hurrying to her table before she could make an even bigger fool of herself. This is what she got for calling it too soon.

A few minutes later, the other barista working that morning set the cup down and headed back behind the counter. Elain closed her computer and put it away, not wanting to get tea on it, then frowned in confusion. Beside the ceramic cup was a small dish with two white chocolate biscotti sitting on it.

She was sure she hadn’t ordered biscotti.

She sighed, checked her receipt, then headed back up to the register. “Excuse me?” she said, hoping the other barista would come over.

It was no good, of course.

“Yes?” the red-haired man said, one eyebrow quirked upwards in a question.

“I – I think you got my order wrong,” Elain said apologetically. “I just ordered tea.”

He smiled. “The biscotti is on the house. I sort of guessed about the white chocolate – hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s my favorite,” Elain blurted out, then flushed terribly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do for my favorite customer.”

Was he – he was flirting with her. Barista Pretty Boy was flirting with _her_. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Lucien,” the man said.

“I’m Elain.”

“Lovely to meet you, Elain,” Lucien said. “I hope you enjoy your biscotti.”

When Elain left the coffeeshop half an hour later, she had a half-finished botany paper, one of the cookies in her bag, and a date for the following Friday, and she decided that she didn’t much mind that Feyre was going to tease her forever and a day about this entire thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	10. Recuerdame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feysand "You had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it."

“You had a nightmare. Tell me what it was about so I can fix it,” Rhys pleads.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Feyre folds her arms across her chest and stares out over Velaris.

“Try me?”

Feyre doesn’t turn. She’d woken up not screaming and sweat-drenched, but with a cold pit of despair and emptiness in her heart. One that she didn’t think Rhys would understand.

“One thought for another?” Rhys says, his voice soft, as he comes up beside her on the balcony.

“I’m thinking,” Feyre says after a moment, “that there are some things about me that – that you’ll never understand. That there are so many things we share, but…”

“Maybe I won’t,” Rhys acknowledges. “But will you try?” Feyre finally turns to look at him, and her heart thaws slightly at the worry and love in his eyes, the way his hair is mussed from sleep.

“I don’t know if I can,” she says, turning back to the sleeping city. “It’s… hard for me to talk about.”

“Tell me a story, then.” He moves behind her, and his arms wrap lightly around her waist.

 _A story_.

“Once upon a time,” she starts, “long ago and far away, there lived a girl.” She swallows. “She lived in a tiny hut on the edge of forest with her two sisters and her father. But the girl was sad.”

“Why was the girl sad?” Rhys asks.

“She was sad,” Feyre says, her voice nearly a whisper, “because she thought she could disappear and no one would even remember she existed. She thought that the only reason her family cared whether she came home at night was because she kept them from starving.”

“What happened then?”

Feyre leans back into Rhys, grounding herself in his warm presence. “Then she was rescued by a – a prince,” she says. “A prince who took her away to a palace. And she didn’t have to hunt anymore, and she could just paint and be happy… but she wasn’t happy.” Her voice shakes slightly on the last word.

Rhys doesn’t respond this time, but his arms tighten around her.

“She wasn’t happy,” Feyre continues, “because the prince took care of her family. And now – now they didn’t need her anymore.” She turns in Rhys’s arms. “I painted these foxgloves on the table in our little house,” she says. “Silly things. They didn’t look right. But I remember thinking that the paint must’ve worn off… and then there wouldn’t be anything to remember me by. Thinking that they’d probably forgotten me by then.” A sob catches in her throat, and she leans forward into Rhys’s shirt.

His hand runs lightly over her back in a soothing motion. “Is that what your nightmare was about? Feeling forgotten?”

“Yes,” she says, and another sob comes out with the word.

“Feyre darling,” Rhys says softly. “You are not forgotten. You are remembered, by me and your friends and your family, now and always.”

“I don’t want to forget about that girl,” Feyre whispers. “I know I’m remembered. But she didn’t. I don’t want to forget her, and what she went through, and what she wanted but couldn’t have. She deserves better than that.”

Rhys pauses. “I owe you a thought from earlier,” he says. “I’m thinking that we should keep telling that story. Because you’re right. She deserves to be remembered.” He presses a kiss to the top of Feyre’s head. “ _You_ deserve to be remembered.”

 _Maybe he can’t understand,_ Feyre thinks as they both stand there and watch the stars wink out one by one as the sun’s first rays touch the horizon, _but he can listen. And sometimes that’s enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	11. Designated Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elriel “Why did we have to have kids?”

“Why did we have to have kids?” Azriel collapsed back onto the couch and rubbed his eyes. “This is terrible. A nightmare, honestly. What the hell were we thinking?”

Elain giggled as she closed the door behind her. “It’s not their fault, Az. They don’t know what they’re doing.”

“That’s no excuse,” Azriel said. “They’re old enough to know better.”

“Well, they’re in bed now,” Elain said. “So we can relax.”

“Did you manage to find a bed for us, or have they taken up every room in the building?” Azriel asked.

“Um… we may have to sleep out here.” Elain sat down on the couch beside him. “Maybe.”

“What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“Oh, shush, you big baby,” Elain said with a laugh, tugging at Azriel until he laid down with his head in her lap. “You know you love them.”

He gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes. “Doesn’t mean they don’t drive me crazy.”

“Elainnnnn…”

Elain groaned. “Oh, no. He’s up. Do you want to deal with him?”

“No.”

Elain glared down at Azriel. “Fine. I will.” She stood up, practically knocking Az to the ground. “What is it, Cassian?”

Cassian leaned in the doorway, eyes glazed with sleep and drunkenness. “Lucien’s hogging the covers,” he whined.

“Well, then, take them away from him,” Elain said, gently propelling Cassian back in the direction of the far bedroom. “Go on.”

“Ugh. Fine.” Cassian stumbled back down the corridor.

“That’s the last time we let them all get blackout drunk,” Azriel grumbled from the couch. “Without us getting drunk as well. I never want to be a parent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	12. ...But A's in Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elucien _study session au ___

Lucien was asleep, and Elain didn’t quite know what to do.

They had met two weeks ago in British Lit with Professor Trappech, had talked twice since then, and had yesterday decided to get together at the university library to study for the test on _Wuthering Heights_ the following Friday. Elain, to her chagrin, had neglected to read the latter half, and Lucien had neglected the former, so it worked out. They’d planned everything to a T – two-thirty, at the study space on the far left in the lobby. They’d both gotten there on time. Early, even.

The only problem was that Lucien was curled up in one of the armchairs, fast asleep.

Elain shifted from one foot to the other, clutching the strap of her canvas bag. She didn’t even know if people were allowed to sleep in the library. She supposed they were. Maybe she should just wait for him to wake up.

She sat down in the other chair and put her bag down gently, so as not to disturb him. Even so, he shifted slightly, and his hair slipped over his face. Elain tilted her own head. She hadn’t seen Lucien up close much before now, and he was, well, interesting. His hair seemed to glow slightly under the fluorescent lights, as did his skin. His fingers were curled gently by his face, and his cheek was resting on the side of the chair.

Elain didn’t know what caused it, but Lucien suddenly jerked awake, eyes flying open. “E-elain,” he stammered, sitting up.

“Hi,” she said. She noticed the pattern from the chair was imprinted on the side of his face. He must have been very tired.

“Sorry about that,” Lucien said, rubbing his eyes. “I just sat down, and the next thing I knew…”

“You were asleep,” Elain finished. “It’s okay.”

“I hate this class,” he muttered, stretching. He was reminding Elain more and more of a cat every minute. “And I hate this book.”

“Me too,” Elain admitted. “Everyone’s so terrible. How’s the ending?”

“Not as bad as the rest of the book,” Lucien admitted. “Reasonably happy. I took some notes.” He gestured to the notebook on the small table in front of them. “If you want to look at them.”

“I… don’t, really,” Elain said frankly, surprising herself. “I can look a summary up. I’d rather talk to you.”

Her surprise was mirrored in his eyes. “Really?”

“Really,” she said. “I… like you, Lucien. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Lucien suddenly smirked. “So this whole study session was just a ploy to get me alone with you?”

“Not originally!” Elain protested.

“But now that we’re here…”

“We might as well,” she said. “Talk, I mean.” She swallowed. She was usually fairly good with words, but every time she’s looked at Lucien, every word she knows has deserted her.

“Just talk?”

“…For now.”

 

They both got C’s on the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	13. Never Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lussian “I won’t let you get hurt.”

“I won’t let you get hurt.”

“Like you have any control,” Lucien snipped.

Cassian let out a long breath of frustration through his nose. “I have sway with my High Lord and Lady. They’re not complete despots – like _some_ leaders I could mention.”

Lucien wrapped his arms more tightly around his knees and rolled his eyes. “Give it up, Cassian. If Rhysand wants me dead, I’m dead. That’s all there is to it.”

“And Feyre?”

“Oh, please.” Another eyeroll, more dramatic than the first. Cassian wondered if he’d developed the gesture after he’d lost his eye to Amarantha, just as a _fuck you_ to her. “She would’ve left me in the Spring Court if she could’ve. The only reason she even took me with her was because she wouldn’t have been able to winnow away otherwise.”

Cassian leaned forwards, wrapping a hand around one of the iron bars of Lucien’s cell. “So that’s it? You’re going to give up?” he said roughly.

“I’m not hearing any better options.” Lucien swung his legs down off the cot. The thin chain of faebane binding him to the cell clinked slightly as it hit the floor. “Look at this,” he spat, gesturing to the chain. “Escape is obviously out of the question. It would be anyways, with the Court of Nightmares hiding in every hole around here. A mercy plea would be foolish. Since when has Rhys ever shown any kind of mercy?”

“You don’t know a thing about him,” Cassian retorted.

Lucien stalked to the bars and grabbed then, shoving his face as close as possible to Cassian’s. “Look. At. Me,” he snarled. “Take a good look, why don’t you? Then tell me why I shouldn’t give up. Chained. Imprisoned. And the only person I have on my side is a great hulking Illyrian who’s more muscle than brain.”

Cassian’s eyes roamed over Lucien – from his slim build, to the unwashed hair draped over his shoulders, to the dual gleam of his eyes, the russet and gold looking dark in the dim glow of the oil lamp a few feet away, to his slim fingers (paler than usual from time away from the sun) wrapped around the bars of the cell…

“Well?” Lucien snarled, and the word was a plea and a challenge.

Cassian wasn’t sure what made him do it. Maybe to provoke Lucien into fighting back. Maybe it was because he didn’t know else to convince Lucien there was someone – hulking Illyrian or no – who cared what happened to him. Maybe just because Lucien was inches from his face, all cheekbones and bared teeth. But he was suddenly surging for Lucien, seeking out his mouth through the wall of iron between them, and their lips met.

For one brief, heartstopping moment, Lucien froze, and Cassian almost drew away, but then the other man’s hands found the collar of his shirt and yanked him hard against the bars. Cassian knew, then – this was not the kiss of a man who was resigned to death. He knew what that felt like – had kissed them, had _been_ them.

And if Lucien was willing to live, the least Cassian could do was convince Rhys to let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	14. Houseguests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on cardinalrachelieu's Cutthroat Fanfiction: ACOTAR Edition Generator. Prompt was:
> 
>  
> 
> _CHARACTERS: rhysand and elain; TROPE: 'hey have you seen that thing i've been look-- ohhhhhh my god you're naked'; TWIST: fluff_
> 
>  
> 
> This takes place in the same universe as Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed, my Modern!AU Lussian fic! In chapter 4, Feyre references a time when Elain spent some time with her and Rhys when Elain's lease ran out before she could find a new place. This is a snippet of that time. (Feyre, you liar, Lucien's a much better guest.)

The very last thing Rhys was expecting to see, and the very last thing he _wanted_ to see, especially at the crack of dawn when all he wanted was a cup of coffee, was Elain’s ass.

“Ohhhhhh my god.” Rhysand had a hand clapped firmly over his eyes. “Elain. No offense. None at all. But why are you naked.”

“Um.” To Rhysand’s surprise – and discomfort – Elain’s voice was quite casual. “No reason. I just didn’t feel like putting clothes on yet. Why are you up so early?”

“Because I woke up.”

“I wanted a cup of coffee,” Elain said conversationally. “So I made some coffee.”

“I didn’t think you drank coffee. Listen, do you want me to get you some clothes? Or Feyre? Or _something?_ ”

“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Elain said calmly. “I don’t usually drink coffee – I prefer tea, mainly, but you don’t have any tea.” Rhys risked a peek through his fingers and observed Elain take a tentative sip from a mug and make a face. She’d turned around now, so he hurriedly replaced his hand. “I haven’t made it before, really, so I’m afraid it isn’t very good.”

“That’s okay,” Rhys heard himself saying. “I’m not good at making coffee either.”

“I wonder how one gets good at it,” Elain pondered. “I suppose you have to practice a lot. Or maybe some people are naturally good coffee-makers. What do you think?”

“I think I would feel more comfortable if you put clothes on,” Rhys said, voice strained.

Rhys could hear the pout in Elain’s voice. “You’re no fun,” she sighed.

“ _Elain_.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll try to remember to keep my clothes on until I get my own place again. But I really do need to buy you some tea. You’re missing out.”

“Whatever you say, Elain.” This was what Rhys got for being generous enough to provide a place for his friend’s wife’s sister. He firmly, though silently, resolved to never again have houseguests. “Whatever you say.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	15. Needles and Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azriel + Kallias brotp.
> 
> Inspired by this post: https://birdiethebibliophile.tumblr.com/post/161952194636/friendly-reminder

“Vivianne!” Mor squealed and launched herself into her friend’s arms. “Finally! _Love_ your dress. Very chic.”

Vivianne laughed merrily, hugging Mor back. “Yours, too! Shall we leave the boys to their antics?”

“Antics?” Azriel said, raising an eyebrow. “Somehow, I think that your activities will be more antic-like than ours. Where’s Kallias, anyways?”

“Somewhere,” Vivianne said, waving an airy hand. “I haven’t seen him all morning. Good thing we made me High Lady, or nothing would ever get done around here.”

“I’ll find him. See you two later. Don’t destroy anything irreparably,” Azriel said, waving.

*****

After looking all over the Winter Court ice palace – bedrooms, kitchen, ballroom – Az finally walked into the stables and grinned.

“Caspian – Cauldron – ugh – if you would just hold _still_ –”

Az knocked lightly on the wall. “Kal?”

Kallias sat back, panting, and pushed his silvery hair out of his face. “Caspian’s vest won’t fit,” he complained. Next to him sat an arctic fox with a round tummy and an embroidered vest, fur messy and ears pressed to his head.

Az laughed, pushing the gate open and sitting down on a nearby pile of straw. “He looks like he’s gotten into the fish barrels a time or two too many, if you ask me.”

Kallias looked dispirited and disheveled. “I spent ages embroidering it,” he said, gesturing at the tiny vest. “I put little herrings on it.”

“Don’t be glum,” Az told him, setting his bag down. “I brought you some more silk thread. Imported from the continent.”

“The scarlet kind?”

“The very same.” Az dug in his bag and handed the thread over. “Perfect for embroidering tiny rubies and poppies and whatever else you like to embroider that’s red.”

“Tomatoes, maybe,” Kallias said absently, rubbing a thumb over the thread. “Did you finish your scarf?”

“Yep.” Azriel pulled a soft, emerald-green scarf from his bag and draped it around his friend’s neck. “Feel better?”

Kallias relaxed, let out a soft sigh, and nodded. “Thanks, Az. You always know how to cheer me up. Vivianne never likes wearing my vests. She says she feels like one of my foxes.”

“I don’t know why that should bother her,” Az said, pulling out a half-finished navy blue sweater and starting to count stitches. “They’re adorable.” He laughed as Caspian trotted over and nuzzled his nose against his hand. He paused in his knitting to stroke the fox’s silky ears.

“Oh, you know her, she likes lace and silks,” Kallias said, threading his needle with yellow. “She and Mor are probably providing a half-year’s worth of business for all the tailors in the city.”

“It’s nice that she loves the Court so much,” Az said, resuming his work on a navy-blue sleeve. “How long has she been High Lady now?”

“Two years last month,” Kallias said with a smile. “Honestly, she’s much more suited to it than I am. I never thought I was going to have this job. And then Amarantha happened, and the rebellion, and here we are.” He brandished his needle. “So here I am. How’s everything in the Night Court?”

“Fine, actually,” Azriel admitted. “Not much for me to do. Quiet. So I’ve been traveling a bit. Visiting you, visiting Helion. Lucien keeps lending me books to read.”

“Any burgeoning romance?” Kallias said slyly.

Azriel’s brown cheeks reddened slightly. “Maybe.”

“Not Mor?”

Azriel burst into laughter in spite of himself. “Definitely not. No. Um – Cassian.”

Kallias’s pale eyebrows tipped up into slashes of astonishment. “Really? The cute one with all the muscles and the hair?”

“That’s the one.” Azriel held his knitting needles up. “He’s who the sweater’s for, actually. He’s been in the Steppes for the past month, helping Nesta make sure the Illyrian war-lords are letting the females train. He should be back soon – he says she’s been doing a fantastic job of keeping them in line. And may be taking interest in one of the trainees, though he can’t prove it.”

“Well, congratulations to all concerned, then,” Kallias said warmly. As he started embroidering a yellow sun on the collar of yet another tiny vest, Caspian yawned with his little pink mouth, then climbed into Kallias’s lap, turned around three times, and flopped down, eyes closed in happiness. “And you’re training Elain?”

Azriel nodded. “When she’s not hiding in various dark corners and pulling Lucien into them so she can make out with him.”

“Sounds like between her and Nesta, you and Cassian have less to do. More free time.”

“It’s true,” he admitted. “I haven’t… I’ve never…”

“Had time to sit in a stable in the Night Court and knit a sweater for your boyfriend?” Kallias filled in.

“Exactly.” Azriel smiled. “It’s nice.”

“We’ve earned a little peace,” Kallias said softly. “You especially, my friend. You deserve a little softness after all those years in the shadows.”

“Yes,” Azriel responded, and for once, he meant it. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	16. A Spoonful of Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien/Cassian, "It's Nothing" sickness fic prompt

“That’s the third time you’ve sneezed in five minutes. Just admit you’re sick.”

“No.” Lucien was carrying a stack of at least fifteen books, and his face was completely hidden behind them. “Cassian, I have two midterms tomorrow. I am not sick.” Then he sneezed again.

“Bless you.” Cassian lifted the books out of his boyfriend’s arms and balanced them easily on one hand. With the other, he felt Lucien’s forehead.

Lucien batted his hand away. “I’m _fine_ , Cass,” he said stubbornly, snatching the top five books back. “Now if you’ll _excuse_ me, I have to _study_.”

“Want me to come by tomorrow after your tests?”

Lucien gave a long-suffering sigh. “I _suppose_. I should be back by five.”

“All right, I’ll leave you to your studying, if you insist.” Cassian pecked Lucien on the forehead. “Let me know if you need anything.”

 

“Lucien.”

“Yes?”

“You. Are. Sick.”

“No, I’m not.”

Cassian was legitimately worried by this time. Lucien had mostly stopped sneezing, but his face was flushed, his eye glassy, and he sounded stuffy. “You got through the tests! You can be sick now!”

“I have work at eight.” Lucien was already pulling on his coat, though he immediately took it off again. “Is it hot in here?”

Cassian managed to resist saying _No, it’s just me_. “You feel hot because you’re sick.”

“I’m not –” Lucien’s knees collapsed under him, and he fell against Cassian. “Shit,” he said, weakly. “I guess I’m sick.”

“Yeah, you are. You’re not going to work.” Cassian scooped his stubborn boyfriend up in his arms and laid him on the couch. “You’re going to stay here and get better. And I’m going to stay here too, and cook you soup, and buy you medicine and ice cream, and make sure you don’t get off this couch until you’re well again.”

Lucien mumbled something into the pillow that sounded a lot like he was cursing Cassian to hell and back for being such a loving and caring boyfriend.

“Don’t you know it.” Cassian smiled and patted Lucien’s head gently. “Love you, Loosh.”

Lucien sighed deeply and raised his head just enough to say, “Love you too, Cass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	17. Flowers After Sundown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark!Elucien. Trigger warning for violence.

Lucien awoke with Elain’s hands around his throat.

“I could kill you, you know.” Her voice was sweet and soft as her delicate fingers stroked the points of his pulse. Gently. Gently. “I could kill you. Change the future. Make your voice in my head go away.”

She squeezed his throat, as if experimentally. Lucien didn’t dare move. She was straddling him, knees holding down his arms. “Should I?” she wondered to herself. “It was your fault, after all. All your fault. The Cauldron. Graysen.” Her fingers convulsed again, and Lucien gagged.

Elain seemed surprised at his reaction. “Did that hurt?”

“Yes,” Lucien said, after a moment of silence and a pulse of the mating bond that made it clear she was looking for a response. His voice was little more than a terrified rasp. He’d faced down naga, passed by the Bogge without looking, had been tortured on Amarantha’s orders, but nothing had ever frightened him as much as the sweet, innocent girl sitting on his stomach and considering whether to choke the life from him.

She did it again, and this time she had her thumbs pressed over his windpipe, cutting off his air. Instinctively, he tried to throw her off, but her newly-Made body was stronger than he was anticipating – she only pinned him down more securely. It was only when his vision started to go black that she released him, gasping and trembling.

Lucien’s vision cleared enough that he could see her face above him. She wasn’t smiling – not exactly. Not frowning, either. She was just watching him with an expression of curiosity. “Maybe not tonight,” she murmured to herself.

Then she kissed his forehead, climbed off him, and left his room without another sound, closing the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	18. Words Which Must Be Spoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nessian "It's okay to cry..."

“It’s okay to cry, you know.”

Nesta wiped her nose on the back of her hand. Her grief was a messy, unmoored, uncivilized thing, and the last person she wanted to see it was Cassian. “I’m not crying.”

He sat down on the floor in front of the fireplace, shredded wings limp and lifeless except for a small shudder as they were exposed to the fire’s heat. “Okay,” he said mildly. “You’re not. You just shut yourself down here to read. At midnight. Without telling anyone.”

“So what if I am, then?” Nesta snapped, and the damn tears welled in her eyes again. “I think I have a perfect right to cry.”

“I’m not saying you don’t.” Cassian stared into the flames. “If anyone has a right to grieve, it’s you. Do you want to talk about it, or –”

“Not with you.” She’d meant the words to wound, and they did; she saw Cassian’s spine stiffen, his shoulders bunch. “What are you even doing down here, anyways? I was here to get some peace and quiet _away_ from people like you.”

“I can leave, if you like.” Cassian’s voice, Nesta thought, was brown and fuzzy, like an old sweater. She didn’t know if she loved it or hated it. “I was worried.”

“About me?” Nesta said icily. “You shouldn’t have been. I don’t need some faerie telling me pretty stories about how it’s all going to work out in the end.”

“I would never say that.” Despite Cassian’s bulk, he looked very small. It was partly that the fireplace dwarfed him, partly the empty space where his wings should’ve been. “It doesn’t always work out. People die, or they get hurt, and you can’t always fix it.”

Nesta felt a pang of regret. They had both lost things close to their hearts. It wasn’t his fault.

“If I could go back in time,” Cassian continued, “and redo that day, I… I want to say I would give you your humanity back, Nesta, but if it was at the cost of Azriel’s life, I wouldn’t.” His shoulder hunch more, as if bracing for a blow.

Nesta would’ve thought she couldn’t cry in this body. Wasn’t that one of the myths? That faeries didn’t feel pain – couldn’t cry tears? It seemed too human of a reaction for her new body, which felt more like it was made of steel than of flesh and blood. “And I would have you sacrifice your wings again if it meant I could save Elain,” Nesta said softly.

Cassian nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he replied.

“And I yours,” Nesta said after a moment.

“Would you like me to leave?”

Nesta hesitated, struggling with herself, but shook her head. “Stay,” she said. “Please.”

“I could not save you, Nesta, but I will grieve with you,” Cassian said. “If you will allow me.”

 _I will_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	19. Sleep Is For the Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elucien “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”

“I was cold.” Elain’s voice is slurred and sweet from sleepiness.

“That explains the bed part. Not the naked part,” Lucien pointed out, amused.

“Cuddling is nicer naked.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched, but he slipped under the covers. “I see. Is this better?”

“Mmhmm.” Elain snuggled up against him until every one of her limbs was wrapped around his body. “Much.”

“You could’ve just asked me to light a fire, you know,” Lucien informed her. It turned out that in the Night Court, outside of Velaris – even just outside – magical heating systems weren’t exactly the norm. It also turned out that Elain was very susceptible to the cold. She’d spent three weeks sneezing constantly before Lucien bought them mounds of down blankets and stacked firewood around all the walls.

It didn’t help that she had recently taken to sleeping naked. It wasn’t that Lucien did not appreciate a naked Elain under any circumstance, but when it was at the cost of her health, he worried.

“You’re better than a fire,” Elain said sleepily, pressing her icy nose against his neck. “You should tell Rhys you can’t go to the library tomorrow. Because we’re snowed in. And then you should tell him you need to stay here with me.”

“You know that last time we did that, Cassian broke down our door,” Lucien pointed out.

“Then don’t tell them anything. Just stay here. You work too much.” Elain pressed a kiss to his neck.

“Oh, all right, dove.” Lucien always gave in. “You know, if we aren’t careful, Rhys is going to revoke our privilege to live outside of Velaris.”

“I’d like to see him try.” The threat, coming from the sleepy Elain, had absolutely no terrifying power behind it. “I’ll threaten that we’ll move to another Court. That usually works.”

“Whatever you say.” Lucien closed his eyes. She was right, after all. He _did_ work too much. And this was much better than work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All these fics can be found on tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


	20. a blanket to keep you warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think I posted this on Tumblr and never got around to posting it on here, but it was a Cazriel prompt - living together.

There was something about Azriel, asleep.

Cassian rested his chin on his folded arms, knees pulled up in front of him on the bed. They’d been scouting out a rising warlord on some of the outer islands of the Night Court, and they were trying not to draw attention to themselves. Two Illyrians this far north would’ve ordinarily seemed suspicious, so Rhys had suggested they pose as fiancés searching for a summer home.

“A summer home?” Azriel had deadpanned. “In the northernmost part of Prythian that’s frozen over more often than not?”

“Fiancés?” Azriel had protested. “They’ll never buy it.”

“I should just go alone,” Azriel had argued.

Rhys hadn’t listened to a word of it. He’d sent them off anyways, convinced of his dumbass plan. They’d rented a tiny house on the island, settled in, and promptly had seven feet of snow dumped on them, trapping them there.

Azriel had cursed Rhys out in both Common and Illyrian, then proceeded to brood for the first week of their stay. However, when it became clear that the snow wasn’t going to let up and they were in for the long haul, he’d relaxed a little. For the last few days, he’d even agreed to sleep on the bed with Cassian instead of on the couch – for warmth, he said.

It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before, in their centuries of friendship, but it was perhaps the first time when they’d been safe, when they weren’t on edge every moment of the day and night. Usually, even in Velaris, Azriel slept tightly coiled, like a snake ready to strike:  a visual representation of _stay away or risk being bitten_.

Cassian had never been good at staying away.

In the days here, though, Cassian had seen a change in Azriel’s body language, at least in sleep. He was still curled in a fetal position, but there was a softness in the way his limbs splayed, the way his lips parted slightly in a sigh instead of pressed together over clenched teeth. Even his wings weren’t folded to his back, but sprawled behind him with an ease that made Cassian think more of a cat than a snake.

That was what he looked like now, and Cassian had to resist the urge to scratch him behind the ears.

At that moment, Azriel stirred, opening sleepy, clear hazel eyes. “Cass?”

“Morning.” Cassian smiled. “And before you ask, no, the snow levels haven’t gone down at all.”

“Gods.” Azriel rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “When we get back to Velaris, I’m dropkicking Rhys off a cliff, High Lord or no.”

“I’ll help you,” Cassian lied. After all, it was because of Rhys’ ill-conceived idea that he was now sitting up in bed with a sleep-fuzzy Azriel. “You want some breakfast? There’s still plenty of stuff in the cellar, and we have the bread I baked yesterday.”

“Mmm. That was good bread.” Azriel blinked up at Cassian. “I’ll make us tea if you want the washroom first.”

“Sure,” Cassian agreed readily. “Two –”

“– cubes of sugar and a splash of honey. I know,” Azriel finished, and he smiled. Cassian wanted to frame that smile in his hands and hang it on his wall. He wanted to hire Azriel as his personal smile provider. He wanted to forget there was anything outside of this cabin that would ever wipe that smile blank.

He never wanted the snow to melt.


	21. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another never-posted fic. Prompt was Cazriel + a secret puppy.

“No, no, nonono, shh.”

Azriel stopped, suddenly alert at the sound of Cassian’s anxious voice. He’d come home early – it was going to be a surprise – but Cassian sounded almost panicked at the sound of his footsteps.

“You can’t – dammit – would you stop _squirming_ already you little – sorry, sorry, I love you, you’re an angel who’s never done anything wrong in your entire life.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, and he crept along the hallway towards Cassian’s voice. It seemed to be coming from the coat closet.

“Good girl. Good – ow! Damn! Your teeth, you gotta –” Suddenly, Azriel flung the door open, and Cassian’s voice broke off. “Az! Ah. Hi. Um.”

For a few seconds, Azriel could do nothing but stare at the scene before him. His boyfriend was sitting on the floor of the closet, and in his arms was a squirming, bright-eyed, black-and-brown puppy. “Cassian.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What. Are you doing.”

“Playing… with… our puppy?” Cassian tried hopefully.

“We don’t have a puppy.”

Cassian scrambled to his feet, the puppy yipping in protest. “Okay, yeah, but she followed me home and she was so hungry so I gave her some food and then she was so _cute_ , Az, I couldn’t just let her go or take her to a shelter, and her name is Trixie, and isn’t she the most beautiful puppy you’ve ever seen in your entire life?”

Azriel heaved a deep sigh, and took a good look at the tiny dog. It was just then that the puppy decided to turn towards him and _grin_ , tongue hanging out and ears perked. He didn’t know dogs could do that. “Trixie,” he repeated under his breath.

“Please can we keep her, Az?” Cassian said, voice soft and genuine. “She didn’t have a collar or anything, and all her ribs were showing. She needed someone to take care of her.”

Azriel hesitated, then shook his head. For a minute, Cassian’s face fell, but then Azriel said, “If we’re going to keep her, we need to get some actual supplies. She can’t keep living in the closet. Does she have her shots?”

Cassian threw an arm around his boyfriend, causing Trixie to yip again. “You’re going to love her,” he whispered. “I promise!”

Azriel smiled in spite of himself. He already loved Cassian, and Cassian loved Trixie, so hell – that was good enough for him.


	22. The Darkness Has Claws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late posted - prompt was from Tumblr, Luzriel and nightmares.

It happened differently for each of them.

Azriel, when he got a nightmare, didn’t move. He just tensed, arms contracting around Lucien in a vice-like grip. His face tightened, and his body shook beyond his control. But he woke easy. Lucien only had to say his name and his eyes would fly open.

Lucien, on the other hand…

Lucien twitched and squirmed and cried out when he had nightmares. He writhed, and whimpered, and hit out at Azriel in his sleep when Azriel tried to wake him up. There was nothing Azriel could ever do but wait it out.

Tonight, Lucien woke with a gasp, jerking upright, hands clutching at his hair. His eyes were dry, as they always were, but his pupils were blown wide with terror. “Az –”

“I’m here,” Azriel said, and drew Lucien to him. Lucien shuddered against his chest, letting out a dry sob. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

“I can’t do this anymore,” Lucien whispered, and his hands moved from his hair to the back of Azriel’s shirt, clutching handfuls of fabric and pulling it tight across Azriel’s chest. “Gods. _Gods_.”

“Do you – want a cup of tea?” Azriel offered lamely. “It might –”

“Yes,” Lucien said, interrupting him. “Please.”

Azriel nodded, getting up and stoking the fire a little, getting the kettle above it to a boil. Then he poured the water over the mixture that made up Lucien’s favorite spiced tea and brought it over in Lucien’s favorite earthenware mug.

Lucien received the tea gratefully, and cupped the mug in his hands, holding it close, as if he could absorb the heat. “Thanks, Az,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more.”

Lucien closed his eyes and leaned his head against Azriel’s shoulder. “You do enough.”

Azriel, stroking Lucien’s hair and keeping an eye on his hands so he wouldn’t spill the tea and burn himself, wondered if that was true – or if they were both beyond each other’s help.


	23. Sweet Sighs and Crying Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late posted, Tarcien + meeting at a party while drunk AU

Tarquin laughed lightly, shoving Cresseida’s shoulder. The cup in his hand, unfortunately, was full of only water. With one foot in law school and the other in the cutthroat world of the courts, he couldn’t afford to let down his guard.

Well. In some ways.

For what felt like the fifteenth time that night, his eyes flicked to the redheaded figure at the other end of the room. Lucien was lounging on a barstool, fingers topped by red-painted nails dangling off the countertop behind him, ridiculously beautiful sternum and collarbones displayed for admiring eyes to take in.

It truly wasn’t fair.

Cresseida slyly elbowed Tarquin, who jumped. “You’re staring again,” she said in a carrying whisper.

Tarquin felt himself flush. “I’m not staring,” he protested.

“I don’t blame you,” Cresseida said blandly, one arm draped over her girlfriend Vassa’s shoulder. “He’s fucking hot. Like, I’d go straight for him.”

“Oh, go ruin your reputation,” Tarquin grumbled, sipping his water and stalking away from his infuriating cousin.


End file.
